


The Legend Of Lup (And Also These Two Chucklefucks She Found By The Side Of The Road)

by aliensinflowercrowns, stopsavannah



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: (again), Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Disassociation, Excessive use of italics, F/M, Gaslighting, Gen, Lup & Taako switch places and everything is angst, Memory Loss, Memory Modification, Minor Blood/Injury, Night Terrors, Panic Attacks, a big ol' angst fest, and punctuation, blupjeans baby Angus, haverdale and phandalin are different cities because FUCK YOU wotc, lup is lowkey suicidal, lup owns a bakery, lup thinks she's a bard, we did a hit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-06-27 17:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensinflowercrowns/pseuds/aliensinflowercrowns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopsavannah/pseuds/stopsavannah
Summary: “Your name is Lup. This is your son, Angus. You own a bakery, Flambé, in the town of Haverdale. You are happy. And you are safe.”Lup doesn’t know where she got those words, but they’ve always helped calm her down.“Your name is Lup, and you love your bakery. So much! So much that you never want to leave. You’re so satisfied with your life. You’ve never done anything different. You never WANTED to do anything different!”





	1. In Our Bedroom After The War

**Author's Note:**

> AU where taako went to hide lup's relic, and disappeared, with a side of blupjeans baby and that good good angst shit.

Lup is kneeling on a dais, arms bound by a cable, and her heart is thumping. There’s dust in her hair, in her throat, sticking to her sweat slick skin. Her breathing is laboured as loud voices reverberate in her ears.

But, Lup is brave. Here, at the very least, she is brave. She smiles, and it’s bitter, and weary, and she raises her head, and says, “Wait. I’m… um… I’m gonna guess. I mean, definitely some lust; um… some gluttony in there, probably; pride, for sure–did I miss anything?”

“Wrath?” Someone says, and Lup’s heart seizes, with–joy? Relief? Longing?–But this Lup, she’s used to this voice. This is the voice she would hear if she were to listen to the beating of her heart, she knows it so intimately. “Did you - don’t forget wrath.”

“Oh,” She says, flashing a toothy smile at… someone. Someone obscured by dust. “Oh, hella, _hella_ wrath,” Lup says. This Lup is angry, this Lup is dangerous, this Lup is more than a shadow.

“For sure,” The voice-her heart, her person-says.

“Sloth?” Someone else asks, and they too, are obscured by dust. Once again, Lup’s heart tightens, but it doesn’t hurt as much this time. She feels more akin to a child, searching in the darkness for the hand of their mother, something familiar. “I mean, you nap.”

Lup smiles, and laughs, and it’s strange, because she is in danger, and she is not one who laughs in the face of danger. Except here, now, she is. Dust fills her throat, but her voice is powerful. “No,” She says. “I’m pretty on my grind.”

“That’s fair.”

Lup looks away from her–companions? Coworkers? Family? No, Lup doesn’t have any family–and raises her head, a shit eating grin on her face as she stares up at the statues (what?).

“Did I get everything?”

“Yes? Uh, how do you plead?”

Lup laughs again, and it’s powerful, it’s courageous, the laugh of a woman who doesn’t fear death or anything else. “Uh, guilty, yeah.”

And Lup stares, stares up at the faceless void of these… stone judges, and her head hurts. Her head hurts and people are talking but she can’t hear it, and she wants to do something or say something or call out to… someone, and hold them and touch their face and get back to them, but instead she stands, frozen in place, and she breathes in dust and she sees _static static static_ and someone says:

“NOT VISIBLE!”

And Lup wakes up.

She launches forward in her bed, her long blonde hair stringy with sweat and sticking to her face. She breathes, heavy and laboured, and for a moment, she is in a different room, with someone kneeling over her and whispering in her ear and there are pictures on the wall she doesn’t understand and knick knacks on the dresser from worlds she wouldn’t recognize.

And then, all she can see is that same _static static static_.

And she blinks.

And it’s over.

And she is in her room, the room in her apartment, and her son sleeps next to her, murmuring slightly, and there is a circular window, rocks that Angus has found walking around their village filling its sill. His books are stacked all over, on his side table and sprawling across the room. Her violin sits in a place of pride on the dresser. She can see a picture of Angus when he was a baby and all the clothes she’d left strewn about when she came home late. She takes in all these objects, these physical reminders that she really is here, that this is all real. This is her life, her home.

“Your name is Lup.” She whispers, voice barely there. “This is your son, Angus.” She looks at Angus, and is grateful he sleeps like a rock. “You own a bakery, Flambé, in the town of Haverdale. And you are happy. And you are safe.”

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and says again, “Your name is Lup. This is your son, Angus. You own a bakery, Flambé, in the town of Haverdale. You are happy. And you are safe.”

Lup doesn’t know where she got those words, but they’ve always helped calm her down.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, and rubs her eyes, awake now. Elves don’t _technically_ need to sleep, but Lup enjoys it. She enjoys sleeping next to her son. She used to enjoy sleeping next to–no, scratch that, she enjoys sleeping next to her son. That’s when she started sleeping. When she had Angus. She’d never had a _reason_ to sleep before.

But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause she’s awake now. She swings her feet over her side of the bed, and the floorboards creak slightly, and she wishes she knew the spell for silence, but Lup barely knows any magic. She’d never had any time to learn it, or anyone to teach her. All she has are her bardic spells, and those are mediocre at best. The kind of cantrips you’d teach a kindergartener.

She stands to her full, elven height, (which is two feet taller with the hat, the hat she can’t remember where she got–what hat? Why on Toril would she have ever owned a two foot tall hat? Nowhere even sells them! She tries to keep poking at these weird inconsistencies, and her musing on elven heights are replaced with _static static static_ ) and stretches, popping her back before grabbing her apron off of a hook by the side of her bed and throwing it on.

She likes this apron. So much that she has two. She’s not sure where she got the money to buy two of the same apron, but Lup does a lot of things when she gets drunk, or sad. She ties the bow, thinking of two mongooses chasing each other around so that she gets it right.

Strange, that she would have a dream about her being brave, powerful, confident, when in reality she can’t tie a bow without needing to really _think_ about it. But before she can pursue this train of thought further, the dream fades into the back of her mind, replaced by a comforting, domestic buzz about what she’s going to go make. Besides, thinking of things like this too hard creates _static, static, static._ So, like, thanks, but no thanks.

~~_“Your name is Lup, and you love your bakery. So much! So much that you never want to leave. You’re so satisfied with your life. You’ve never done anything different. You never WANTED to do anything different!”_ ~~

She decides on muffins, with blueberries, because they’re Angus’ favorite. Or, wait, someone else’s favorite. Someone who likes blue food? Or maybe they don’t like blue food, but they thought it was funny that Lup thought they liked blue food? Blueberries? Blue… blue _something_. Lup gives her head a little shake. There’s no one else in her life she loves enough to shape her baking choices just for them. Just her and Ango. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how she wants it to be.

She walks down the creaky stairs, and thinks she can't believe that asshole still hasn't fixed something so obvious. Wait a minute, does she even know anyone who can do that?  Knows how to do that? (What asshole? She might not have the best social skills but even she doesn’t conduct any of her business relationships that way.) She reaches into the pockets of her apron to grab the small notebook Angus gave her to help with her memory problems. Of course, she kept forgetting the notebook, so they got some more, all scattered around the house. Of course, Lup was used to having notebooks all over the house. (Was she? Why would she be? Angus keeps a lot of notebooks, but he’s neat. Which is funny, because the only person she knows whose messier than her–besides, Angus has only been interested in making notes about everything for the past, how many years? Why would she be so used to it?)

“Muffins,” She says, out loud, already halfway down the stairs.

It’s always worse at night. When she’s alone, when she’s dreaming, when everything is so quiet that she can’t help but notice the lack of noise. When the apartment is so empty her brain starts working to fill it, but all it can generate is that same _static static static._

Doing something helps. Talking to people, real people, who she can see and hear and remember, rather than these old dusty shadows, half-realized ghosts fighting to take shape,she can’t seem to shake.

She taps the small anti lich ward that she carved into the bottom of her stairwell twice for good luck. (Did she carve it? She doesn’t carve. That’s his job. Whose?)

~~“ _Your name is Lup, and… uhh… you have a deathly fear of liches. You see one, you turn tail and run.”_~~

“Muffins,” She says again, a bit louder this time, and for some reason it feels better, even though the idea of a grown-ass adult who can only repeat one word would be even more worrying than one who can’t hold a thought in their head long enough to mix up some muffin batter.

“Elderberry,” She clarifies, because they taste better than blueberries anyway.

She moves to her kitchen, cramped, and industrial and made of steel, set for a trip much shorter than this one has become. She laughs a little bit at the idea that she’d ever run a space like that. She looks at her kitchen; big and homey and domestic, set up for a long life. She goes to the fridge–what’s a fridge?– the icebox, and gets out everything she needs: eggs, butter, flour, etc. She turns, instinct expecting someone to be there with all the spices she needs. (Who would be there? The only person she has is Angus, and he lacks the capability to boil water without setting at least three things on fire. Just like… _static static static.)_

“Hey,” She says, before realizing her mistake. The rest of the words die on her lips, something about a place, no, a plane with no eggs? What does that even mean? _Static static static._

She hums a song, something nameless and old and in a language she doesn’t remember, and turns her brain off, focusing on the task at hand, trying to pull her head out of the field of cotton it’d lodged itself in. She grinds her teeth as she stirs, wishing that it would stop, that it all would stop, that something would make sense for once in her life.

Lup has always stressed baked. Sometimes without remembering to turn off the lights, which scared the shit out of the kid a few times. (What kid? Angus? Angus has dark vision? Who would she scare? Whatever.)

Crack the eggs.

Smash the butter.

Fuck.

She forgot the elderberries. Why had she felt like preparing them was a job that belonged to someone else?

It’s fine. She hands the bowl to–

To no one.

It falls to the ground, in a fantastic display of crystalline destruction, and god damn it someone is gonna come and yell at her, either someone in the caravan or Auntie or, fuck, maybe even _static static static_ , but that wouldn’t happen, cause now she’s on _static static static_ and she’s got _static static static_ so she doesn’t have to worry about her and _static static static,_ and then she hears someone scream, loud and shrill and defeated, and then after a moment she realizes it’s her. She’s sat down on the kitchen floor without realizing it and someone is shaking her, their nails digging into her shoulder.

“Mom?”

Lup looks up, and for a moment she can’t recognize the face looking back at her. But this is Angus, and how could she ever forgot her son? Her own flesh and blood? She can feel that her face is wet, but she doesn’t know it it’s from tears or sweat or blood.

“Hey little man,” She says, and her voice is weak and shaking. She looks around at the glass she’s surrounded by. “Fuck,” She says. “I should, uh, clean this up, huh?” She reaches for the glass, and a fresh gash of red streaks across her palm. Just like the ship from her dreams streaks through the sky.

“Fuck,” Angus repeats, with feeling.

Lup laughs. “Well, guess we better call -”

She stops.

Who should they call?

“Who should we call?” Angus asks, grabbing a notebook from his pajama pocket, eyes aglow.

“I…” She says. Her palm is pulsing with heat, the sweat that’s suddenly appeared irritating her cuts but she can’t feel it. “I don’t know,” She says, hanging her head. “I’m sorry, m’dude. I know that doesn’t help your case.”

Angus shrugs, and slips the notebook back in his pocket. He puts a small brown hand on her shoulder, his skin a few shades lighter than hers, probably the genes (heh, jeans. Why is that funny? Oh yeah, because it’s her goofing on _staticstaticstatic_ ) from that pasty fucker she can infer might’ve been Ango’s dad. (Who was Ango’s dad? Was he white and pasty? Lup had a lot of one night stands seven years ago. Twelve years ago? Forty?)

“It’s okay, Mama,” He says. Lup is so fucking angry at herself, that this little tiny baby has to take care of the person who’s supposed to be protecting and caring for him. But Lup’s never been good at protecting people.

Lup smiles at him, and she’s so tired, so so tired, and everything hurts, and she wonders if it would be better for Angus to be on his own. He’s so smart, she bogs him down, wakes him up in the night, scares him and stresses him out. He doesn’t need the weight of her many, many issues. He’d be better off without that, without her, as a burden.

“Let me, um, grab my violin,” She says. “Maybe I know a cleaning up glass spell?”

Angus cracks a small smile but she can still see the worry and fear in his eyes. She’s scared him. She terrifies her own child. And, like, god, what kind of shitty incompetent mother is she?

“Maybe we should just use the broom,” Angus says.

Lup makes weak finger guns. One of her hands is still covered in blood. “You’re the boss, Ango.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title: [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5qx_ZMY7tU) and [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/5b43XehPlGYoOGjl9AncUV?si=vu3vofJtQ_CDWlXZpwrApw/)


	2. Eat Sleep Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which being a dumbass somehow lands Lup a job.

They clean up, quiet and methodical. They’ve done this too many times. Angus bandages her hand, and Lup feels small and idiotic. He helps her get ready for the day, handing her ingredients and chattering about the books he’s reading to keep her feet on the ground. He helps her make something easy, (sugar cookies. Lup likes icing them, she find it calming) and by helps her make, she means hands her ingredients. 

Lup puts them in the oven and takes a deep breath, relaxing against the counter. Her back pops in three different places, earning her a Look from Angus. She sticks her tongue out at him, then stops dead. 

“Angus?” She asks. 

“Yeah?” 

“What… what time is it?” 

Angus looks confused. “‘Bout eight. Why?” 

Fuck. Shit. FuckShitShitShit. 

Lup springs into action. “Come on, get dressed, we have to go -”

“What’s going on? Mom?” 

“We have to get you to school?” 

Angus whines slightly. “Mom, it’s fine, I don’t need to go to school, I should just stay with you.”

~~_ “Take care of Angus. Seriously, Lup. Don’t abandon him.” _ ~~

Lup shakes her head. “No no no bucko, I pay a lot of money for you to go to a fancy boy fancy school and so you need to actually go.” 

“You don’t pay any money. It’s free.” 

“Emotional money, Angus.”

“That’s not a thing, mom.”

They get dressed in a quick and practiced flurry, and Lup is glad she moves so easily around another person, almost like she’s always been one half of a two person team (but that wouldn’t make any sense, because Lup was alone. She was alone before Angus. Wasn’t she?)

He gets dressed, puts on his backpack, combs his hair. She tugs off her apron and tugs on some clothes (where is that one shirt? The black one? With the straps? Wait, no that’s in her other closet? What other closet? His closet! Who? That shirt belongs to  _ staticstaticstatic _ ), then pulls her long hair up into a messy bun. She wishes she could just throw on a disguise self and be done with it, but Lup doesn’t know disguise self (does she? Doesn’t she? Lup is not powerful), she’s a bard. 

She puts her non bandaged hand on her son’s shoulder as they walk outside. Lup takes a deep breath, and looks up at the sky, and for a moment, just a moment, it changes. 

Purple.

Black. 

_ Static. _

_ Static. _

_ Static. _

And then,

Blue again. Just like it’s always been. And just like she’s always done, she walks her son to school, through the safe streets of Haverdale. She drops him off outside the door, with a quick peck on the cheek and a cheesy “go get ‘em tiger,” and here in the sun, she almost feels like a real person, not some half-manifested ghost clinging to a forgotten existence. 

~~ “ _ Your name is Lup. This is your son, Angus. You own a bakery, Flambé, in the town of Haverdale. You are safe, and you are happy. _ ”  ~~

She returns to her bakery, flipping the sign to open, and throwing on her apron. After Lup pulls the fresh baked cookies out of the oven, she taps the anti-lich ward carved into the counter. Angus made that one. 

“Liches get stitches, Mama!” He’d said, with missing teeth and messy hair. 

“Hell yeah, little man!” 

~~ “ _ Your name is Lup, and you have a deathly fear of liches. _ ”  ~~

Lup pulls out cupcakes, cookies, muffins, scones. She almost made macarons, she could’ve sworn they were someone’s favorite, but Angus didn’t like them, so whose could they be? Probably just someone she had a fling with once. Or maybe a caravan leader. Either way, Lup decides to make a carrot cake, for the fantasy gluten free crowd. 

~~ “ _ You are happy, and you are safe. _ ”  ~~

At around eleven A.M., after Lup has already served the breakfast crowd, Ren Davies, a drow girl from down the road, comes bustling in to the cafe, her black hair haphazardly pulled into a ponytail, seemingly out of breath. 

“Heya, Miss Lup,” She says, panting a bit. “Sorry I’m late.” Ren grabs her apron off of the hook in the kitchen and ties it on with ease. 

“It’s fine, Ren,” Lup says with a wave of her hand. Lup knows that Angus worries about her, and that’s most of the reason she keeps Ren around. Angus doesn’t trust her to be on her own. (Lup does enjoy having someone in the kitchen with her, though. Of course, Ren isn’t as good as  _ staticstaticstatic. _ ) 

“So,” Lup starts as Ren scrubs her hands. “Not to be dysfunctional or anything, but any chance you can keep an eye on Ango for a while? I found a couple of gigs near Neverwinter, but I worry about him when he’s alone.”

“Nah,” Ren reassures her. “Lup, I’m pr’tty he’s the most responsible kid I’ve ever met.”

“On one hand,” Lup says slowly. “That’s true...But, um, he also did try to spray Fantasy Febreeze into the fan because it would be, quote, ‘So fucking efficient,’ but he actually just got a face full of Fantasy Febreeze. And there was that one time this old lady had to pull him out of the road because he was too into his book and almost got hit by a cart.”

“Boss Lady, don’t even worry about it! Me and the little dude will have a great time! Just go, get that cash money,” Ren pauses for a full four seconds of eyebrow wiggling. “Maybe, y’know,  _ get some _ , and Ango and I’ll just fucking kick it here at the bakery!”

Lup laughs. Why would she need to get some? She hasn’t been single in… no, wait, she hasn’t dated someone in, no, but, what about–everything in her mind devolves into _ static static static _ . She shakes her head slightly, as if that would do something to clear the fog that had permanently settled just behind her eyes. 

Lup releases some tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding. She’s been dreaming about something like this for so long and some part of her brain is terrified that something would happen that made these plans fall through. 

Lup draws up recipe plans for the time that she’ll be gone, makes sure Ren knows where to find Angus’s FantAsthma Inhaler and what to do if anything goes wrong. 

She waits for Angus to get home before she starts packing, and her gut instinct is proved right when she has an incredibly detailed packing list (complete with where to borrow or buy everything she doesn’t have) drawn up for her by an incredibly excited Angus. When they head to pick up the day’s mail, she finds an anonymous package sent to her that contains a bag of holding with some weird fire pattern embroidered in it, that looks strangely familiar, as well as a new book for Angus. Something that he’s mentioned he wanted a few times, but Lup couldn’t afford. She knows she should be more apprehensive about it than she is, but strange anonymous packages are just another one of life’s little idiosyncrasies that Lup tries not to think too hard about. 

As Lup heads out of town the next morning, she fights back waves of nausea. It feels like every part of her is  **screaming** at her.  _ She needs to go back, she needs to go find Angus. What if something happens to him while she’s gone? Why is she doing this? Why would she ever want to leave Angus? To leave her bakery? _

She finds a nice stump to sit on, eats a muffin she’d packed, and gives herself a mental pep talk.  _ LISTEN,  _ she tells herself–as if anyone, even her, could convince her garbage brain to function normally and according to the laws of reason– _ you’ve been dreaming about doing this for literal years. Remember, when you saw that Craig’s list parchment at your gig last week? Remember how you thought it felt like a sign? You can’t wuss out now. And what would Angus think? Remember how excited he was for you?  _

Lup has to repeat these little sitdowns many times as she walks towards Neverwinter, but she manages to get there.

“I made it,” she breathes after she’s flopped on the pathetic mattress in the shitty inn. “I  _ did _ it. Holy shit.” 

Neverwinter feels weird, and itchy, and wrong. Panic claws its way up her throat, and she feels far away, her breathing shallow and laboured, as if there is something heavy sitting on her heart, weighing her down, dragging her into the depths of some dark ocean populated by dust and ashes.  

Ten minutes? An hour? A decade? No–probably only a few minutes, being trapped somewhere for a decade is just weird and fanciful–later she comes back to herself, nails digging into brick in an alleyway. She runs her fingers through her hair, and steps out of the alley trying to look as if this is a normal thing that an absolutely functional adult woman  _ should _ be doing in mid-morning Neverwinter. 

The rest of the walk to the bar for her meeting passes uneventfully, even if she still feels a heavy weight in her stomach. 

She spots a nervous looking man fiddling with a coin as he sits at a small table. He’s older, with graying brown hair, and a bit of a “dad bod.” He looks uncomfortable, and is downing mead like it’s going out of style. Lup looks at the crumpled piece of paper in her hand, kept in her pocket for last two weeks like a prayer, and smiles. 

“Uh, Barry…” She snorts. “I’m sorry. Barry Bluejeans?” 

He sighs, belabored and heavy. His voice is gravelly when he speaks. “Yeah. That’s me.” 

“Well. That is a name and a half. Lup McDonald, good to meet you.” She sits down across from him and holds out her hand. He takes it, and a jolt of electricity runs through her body. She feels as if something is trying to claw its way out of the her ribcage. A strange and unearned warmth that blooms from long forgotten place deep within her. She looks at Barry, and their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, and Lup hears music, and then  _ static static static _ . 

She drops his hand and signals for a beer, massaging her temples slightly. 

“So, Barold,” She says, voice strained from the pounding in her head. 

“What did you say?” Barry asks. 

“Harold and Harry, Barold and Barry, y’know what I’m saying, m’man?”

Barry swallows thickly. “Yeah, no, that tracks. It’s just, my um, I” He tapers off, fiddling again with the coin in his hand. “I’ve never heard that one before. Didn’t think my name could get more stupid.” 

“That’s me,” Lup said. “I always make things more stupid. My energy just kind of rubs off.” 

She realizes what she’s said, and facepalms. “Fuck,” She whispers. “This is a  _ job interview. _ Forget I said that.” 

But, thank Oghma, Barry is laughing. His smile is easy and forgiving, and Lup wants to wrap herself up in it. 

“So,” Lup says. “How do we do this? Do I like… fight an ogre? Seduce a vampire? Um… flambé a ghoul?” 

“Flambé a ghoul?!” 

Lup cracks a smile. “Well I could’ve said seduce a ghoul, but no one wants that.” 

Barry thinks about it for a second. “I’ve definitely had a sexual experience with a ghoul,” He says, before taking a deep drink of mead.

They both laugh, like teenagers staying up too late at a sleepover, telling each other bad jokes, drunk off of the nighttime air. Their hands instinctively find each other over the table, and for a moment, their fingers lace together, before they both gain some sense of self awareness and break apart. Barry coughs awkwardly. 

“Um, if you just, uh, you’re a bard, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Whack.” 

“Why?” 

“I’unno, I just get… wizardly energies? If that makes any sense?” 

She chuckles sharply. “Nah. Too many books. Cha’girl doesn’t really  _ do _ sitting still. My son, on the other hand, is a genius. Kid can -”

“You have a kid?” Barry has a strange look on his face. 

“Yeah. Angus.” 

“And you’re doing this? How old is he?” 

“He’s… um… he’s…” She shakes her head. “He’s old enough. Besides, he’s got someone watching him.” 

“His dad?” Barry asks. “Or, mom, you know, whatever. Whichever. Whoever.” 

Lup shakes her head. “Nah. Family friend. I don’t really… do relationships.” 

“Oh,” Barry says. “Yeah. No. Me neither. No, uh, Barry Bluejeans is a no strings attached kinda guy.” He coughs awkwardly. “So. I was, um, hired as a bodyguard and I’m looking to hire some extra man; or woman in your case. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Being a woman, I mean. I love women, too much, sometimes! Not in a weird way! Just, like, y’all are great! It’s about time for more women to go adventuring.  _ Get it together, Bluejeans! _ Anyway. Some extra, er, person? Personpower to ensure that the cargo and the employer arrive unharmed in Phandalin. So I guess, just, um, show me what you got. Go… go and get ‘em tiger.” 

Lup smiles, kind of crooked. “Okay,” She says, reaching for the violin case at her feet. 

She pulls it out, resting it carefully at the crook of her neck, and closes her eyes, feeling her shoulders relax. She plays a small tune, something simple, easy and familiar. A tune that feels like putting on an old coat. She plays long enough for Barry’s mead to levitate, and pour itself in her own, now empty, glass. She puts down the violin, and downs the mead in one go, flashing him a toothy smile. 

“You’re hired,” Barry says, looking slightly shellshocked. 

“Really?” Lup asks. “Seriously!? Oh my gods! That’s so sick!” She stands up, clapping her hands together like a little kid. She almost runs over to wrap Barry into a hug, but stops herself. Lup isn’t normally a touchy person, and she’s not sure where this overwhelming desire to show affection to a stranger is coming from. (Stranger? He’s not a stranger. He doesn’t feel like a stranger. He hasn’t been a stranger since  _ static static static _ .) 

Barry smiles, and stands up as well. “Congrats,” He says, going in for a hug. 

“Thanks!” Lup says, giving him a firm handshake. 

Barry stops short at the handshake. He scratches the back of his neck. “So, uh, what are you doing? Like, tonight.” 

“Oh,” She says, sucking in air through her teeth. “Yeah. I um, I have a gig tonight, actually?”

“After that?”

“Uh, yeah, also I don’t sleep with people I work with.” 

Barry goes beet red. “I wasn’t. That’s not what I. I in no way was insinuating that -”

Lup laughed. “Yeah, uh, sure Barold. Tell you what. After this job, maybe we can grab fantasy boba.” 

“It’s a date!” Barry says. “I mean, not like that. A friend date. For friends and coworkers. Who are friends. Platonically!” 

Lup winks and leaves the bar, adding a little sway to her hips, just because she wants to, not because she’s trying to impress Nerdy McNerdPants. Obviously. Duh. Shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there demons it's your boy (Savannah)   
> okay so real long rambling story that basically boils down to: my body is garbage. so, like, sorry about that.   
> but, i'm in a much better living situation rn (and going to way more doctor appts lmao) so expect a big increase in posting, ESPECIALLY if y'all slam that mf comment button. 
> 
> chapter title: [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62EpUuI4e1A/) and [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/0sZUfdAajnMsqTLyAYo7Mw?si=ZSyj0xiuT96h9ZXxRa6A1A/)


	3. Until I Am Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lup plays a gig. Angus goes snooping.

Lup goes to the gig that had made it possible for her to justify the trip to Neverwinter feeling apprehensive, but as she steps up to play the crowd’s attention feels like slipping on an old, worn-in coat and she lifts her bow and thinks  _ I got this. _

She still can’t believe how lucky she’s gotten. She’d gone outside of her usual radius to go play Neverwinter, had seen the Craig’s List post saying their wizard had dropped out and they needed a replacement as soon as possible. She’d been dreaming of adventure for so long, and even though she’d gotten in by the skin of her teeth she was  _ really _ going to do this.

Although Lup had rolled too low on her perception check when she looked out at the crowd during her water break, violin loose in her grip, Barry Bluejeans was sitting in the back of the bar. His coin had told him that if he ever saw a beautiful elf girl play the violin he should go and watch, and hell it’s not like he has anything better to do with his evening.

Barry spends the whole time with his eyes glued to Lup. He’d thought that she was pretty from the moment he saw her–as if anyone could meet her and think otherwise–but watching her here, in her element? He’s transfixed. His coin was right, this was definitely worth going to.

Lup closes her eyes in focus as she plays. Her hair falls loose down her back, shining in the candlelight. Her violin, clearly well loved but also well cared for reflects the occasional light off of its shining polish. She’s wearing a red dress, and for some reason Barry can just  _ tell _ that this bright fiery red is her color.

Later, after this version of Barry Bluejeans dies in a blaze of enchanted fire, his spectral form will rise from the black glass circle. He’ll hold this image of her, of _ his wife, _ in her element close to his heart for a long time. All of it: this scene from the bar, the way she had looked as she concentrated on an especially tricky phrase, her face,  _ everything. _ He will think of this memory, along of some glimpses he’d caught of her and Angus, and use it as fuel. He’ll remember them, his family, his everything, and he will tell himself: “Everything you’re working towards will be worth it. For them.”

As Lup plays her final song, a haunting melody that feels like heartbreak, Barry starts crying. Of course, he doesn’t know that. He won’t until a stranger outside makes a comment about “rough night, man? Your girl dump you?” and then tells him about his tears when he tells them no and asks why they would think that. 

The next morning, Lup wakes from a restless sleep, the words " _~~take care of Angus, Lup. Seriously, don’t abandon him~~ ,” _ echoing in her head. It takes every shred of her willpower not to rush back to Haverdale, scoop her son up, and never let him out of her sight. But, somehow, she does it. And, if she has to stop and empty her stomach, pause to try and breathe through the dizziness, that’s between her and her god. If she does this more than once, that’s none of anyone’s fucking business.

She heads to the same tavern where she’d played her gig. Barry had sent a message to her room to tell her when and where they were to meet. The trip is short, and when she gets there Nerd Boy–Barry–is standing outside, along with a muscular fighter and a short dwarf who is evangelizing to everyone walking past.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he starts when he sees her. “Do you have a moment to hear about Pan? You get this cool chick track!” 

He looks like he’s about to keep trying to hype up his god, but Barry (mercifully) intervenes. “Uh, no, Merle. She’s, uh, she’s already with us.” 

The dwarf puts the pamphlet away, and the fighter seems to be bouncing up and down. “Hi!” He says, with far more enthusiasm than anyone should ever be allowed to have. “My name’s Magnus Burnsides! I’m from Raven’s Roo-”

“Cool,” Lup says, flatly in a tone that conveys how Not Cool she thinks all of this is. “But, no offense, cha’girl took this job to make some cash and see some cool shit. I’m not here to like, tell each other secrets and braid hair around the campfire.” 

The man, Magnus, seems to slump. “Are you sure? ‘Cause, like, we could play 20 questions?”

“‘I’M IN HELL,” Lup said, loudly. Even though their cart was right there, she started striding towards Phandalin. (C’mon, like  _ she’d _ ever turn down a good dramatic moment for something practical?  _ Static static static  _ would never let her live it… It would be like the time that she pulled a prank on the  _ static static static…  _ That just isn’t who she is.)

When Magnus steers the wagon up alongside her and Merle tells her to get in, she does, acting as though she’s doing  _ them _ a favor and not like she’s become so dizzy and disoriented that she’s at a serious risk of passing out. 

They meet up with Gundren, Barry’s employer–who’d apparently had something come up, so he wasn’t able to meet up with them for her interview in Neverwinter–and Barry gives her a little two-fingered salute before he climbs onto a horse to protect Gundren. 

“See ya in Phandalin, Barold,” Lup says, hoping her voice doesn’t betray how she’s feeling torn up about this. “You owe me a boba run, don’t forget.” 

“Promise,” Barry tells her, voice uncomfortably sincere. “All the boba you can drink.”  

\---

Lup has to hand it to their fighter. He is–along with herself, natch–one of the most stubborn assholes she’s ever met. 

Lup has always had a pretty, um,  _ abrasive _ personality, a fact that isn’t helped by the way she’s feeling sicker and sicker with each step she takes away from Haverdale, away from Angus. 

But Magnus remains his obnoxiously cheery self, even after Lup gives him her millionth death glare. Looking him over, Lup has to give him a grudging amount of respect. Not like she likes the guy or anything though, she’s still ready to ditch these two chucklefucks at any moment. 

Unlike Barry and Gundren, who had done the smart thing and tried to travel as quickly as possible, Lup has somehow let Magnus and Merle rope her into stopping at a tavern. As they make sure their wagon is well secured outside the seedy bar, Lup pushes past them. “I’m not sitting by you two idiots though, don’t want Mango here getting any ideas about us being friends or anything.”

Barry and Gundren had headed out at first light, while Lup’s traveling companions slept off the last night’s ciders. Lup, who knows how badly things go when she drinks too much, didn’t drink. 

She wakes with the sun, her skin buzzing with anxiety. She feels like she’s going against her nature by being here, being in Neverwinter, leaving her bakery, leaving her baby. She considers running to the nearest merchant and blowing all her cash on a stone of farspeech so that she can call him. After all, Gundren said that this was the last job she’d ever need to take, so she’ll probably be rich after this anyway. Or she might be dead. Shit. She should leave. This is a bad idea. Why would she ever think she needed more than her bakery, more than Angus? She should have been content to stay in her cozy little life. She grabs at her shirt, frantically checking for an anti lich ward. She finds it, on the scruff of her neck. The back of its collar is a weird place to sew a ward, but she clutches it desperately all the same. 

She rubs it, mumbling words to herself in a forgotten language. The magic burns, like all her wards do, leaving small red marks on the fingers that had rubbed it. There’s something comforting about the pain. The sting says,  _ you are alive. You are here. You are real. You wouldn’t be feeling this if you weren’t.  _

She lets out a sigh, feeling a little more grounded now. Magnus snores loudly across the room, and Lup decides to stay, at least for another minute, another hour, another day.

\---

Angus loves his mama, don’t get him wrong. But he is kind of glad to be on his own, for what is essentially the first time in his life. He’s almost old enough to be graduating middle school, but he’s never spent the night away from his mom. And he’s glad, glad that he’s had this sense of safety and security that he could wrap himself up in, but his mom being away means that he can do something he’s wanted to do for years now. Rifle through her stuff. 

It takes some convincing to get Ren to leave, but he manages. He gets her to agree that if he can beat her at poker, then he’s mature enough he doesn’t need a babysitter. He uses all the tricks that his mama has been teaching him since he was four. Ren fixes him with a look that says “I’m on to you, little man,” but leaves all the same, saying that she’ll be back to make him dinner and warning him not to get in too much trouble. 

This gives Angus four hours to find any clues hidden away in his mom’s possessions. He pulls out a fresh notebook and writes in his best handwriting:  _ Angus McDonald and the Case of the Missing Memories _ . 

Here’s what he knows so far: 

  1. His mom is an elf who grew up moving from caravan to caravan, she doesn’t have any family besides him. 
  2. She seems to expect other people to be around, trying to reach for or hand something to someone who isn’t there. 
  3. She has a lot of stuff that she doesn’t seem to remember getting, but also refuses to get rid of. 
    1. This includes her old, worn out painting jeans. She says she thinks that they belonged to “some fling” but they’re hers now, suckers. 
  4. Sometimes she says things like “Ugh, he needs to come finally fix that railing.” She never knows who “He” is. (Calls “him” names meanly but fondly?)
  5. She doesn’t know who his dad is.
    1. His dad was probably white, based on the way he looks. 
    2. Sometimes mama has called his dad (he thinks that’s who she was referencing) things like “that nerd” 
    3. She says she had a lot of hookups, which she no longer does.
  6. She gets headaches sometimes, and has bad dreams. 
    1. She doesn’t think he knows about this. 
    2. Asking her questions when she seems disoriented or confused makes the attacks worse. 
    3. Random events will trigger these attacks. Usually these events are mundane and every day. He hasn’t managed to create a conclusive  list of triggers.
  7. She’s sad. 



He looks at the last item on the list for a while, chewing on on his pencil as he tries to think if there are any other details he should add. He slips the notebook into his pocket and moves to survey the room. Their bedroom is small, as is most of their house. Downstairs has the kitchen, the bathroom, and the storefront of their bakery, while upstairs has their bedroom and a small living room.

The bed is plain, with a big blue quilt that they’ve had for as long as he can remember. No dice there. The floor has some clothes strewn about, mostly his mom’s, Angus is pretty clean. He finds some assorted coins and jewelry in the pockets, but nothing that helps with his case. He’s got his rocks on the windowsill, stacks of books, and other knicknacks that have been laying around for ages. Angus picks up a ring and looks it over. It’s got a gold band with a little red ruby inlaid in it. He puts it back down gingerly. 

He starts opening up random drawers in their kitchen. He finds more kitchen tools than he thinks his mom could use in her whole life. To justify owning that many, she’d probably need another set of hands. He adds that to his list. 

There are lots of clothes, but his mom has always sort of hoarded clothing. She’ll often tear her closet apart looking for something, only to find that she doesn’t have it anymore. He finds an old T-Shirt. It’s red and has some circular pattern on it that makes his head hurt when he looks at it. There’s another one next to it that simply reads LUP, with an arrow pointing up. He wonders why she would need a shirt telling someone who she was. He knew his mama had memory issues, but she’d never forgotten her own name (had she?). He puts that back as well, wondering if he should wear it as a good good goof one day, or if that would just make her sad. Angus can never really tell what will make her sad. The last shirt he finds is the most confusing of all. It says:  _ World’s Stinkiest Sister.  _ Angus wrinkles his nose. He wonders if his mom had some sort of ironic phase at one point where she bought things that were “So Random XD.” After all, she didn’t have a sister, wasn’t anyone’s sister. She said all the time “it’s just you and me, little man,” talked about how Angus was the only family she had but also all she needed. He adds the weird shirts to the list anyway. As he’d learned from his Caleb Cleveland novels, a good detective never ignored any clues.

He continues his methodical searching and ends up finding, behind their fancy table linens, a soft, cotton blanket. The blanket is pink, and small enough that it could only have been made for a baby. It’s been embroidered with swirling designs that appear to move. He runs his fingers along them, and has to muffle a gasp when he sees a message stitched along the bottom border.

“Happy first Candlenights, Little Dude. I took all your chocolate coins ‘cause you’re not old enough to eat them. Hopefully soon you’ll be capable of gambling with the rest of us. Love, Uncle  _ static static static _ .”

This doesn’t make sense. Little Dude  _ is _ his nickname,  _ but _ he doesn’t have an Uncle. Does he have an Uncle?

He pulls his notebook out of his pocket, and carefully writes “mama has (had?) a brother??” After a moment of thought, he looks back at his list. He scans it, and when he reaches the last item his vision is filled with nothing but  _ static static static.  _ He tries to re-trace his thoughts and remember what he’d written down. But every time that his brain tries to make the final logic leap to think “my mama had a brother,” it’s like he’s incapable of keeping that thought on his mind. Each time he goes through this process, his headache gets worse and worse. Spots and static fill the edges of the room. The next thing he is conscious for is him on the floor and Ren was shaking his shoulder, a worried expression on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Ango, here’s how to win poker.”  
> “Mama, I just started grasping how to play go fish.”
> 
> chapter title: [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bu5uQsCB4Zk&ab_channel=14hp1) and [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/7rASOb6TUibjcvhI4IpXQV?si=G3yzEfr4SUypeaxyctI0gg)


	4. Rivers And Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lup meets some gerblins. Angus makes a plan.

The next day-and-a-half of travel is uneventful. Merle keeps talking about “practicing cantrips.” Lup doesn’t know much about how wizards and clerics prepare their spells, but based on his tone Lup resolutely  does not  want to learn if there was some big difference between them and bards. Magnus has insisted on driving (which Lup doesn’t care about, so she just lets him) and periodically does dramatic jazz hands while yelling “TRAVEL MONTAGE!” It doesn’t do anything, obviously, but at least the surprise yelling keeps Lup from zoning out  _ too _ deeply. 

When Magnus loudly calls them up to see something, Lup is fully expecting it to be another one of his riveting updates. (Past updates have included “Guys, you’ve GOT to see this tree!” “Hey that cloud looks like a dick!” and “Hey, do you guys think those tracks could be from a dog? We should go see if we find that dog!”) Instead, Magnus gestures to two dead horses laying in the road. 

Lup feels her heart sink as she recognizes one of the horse’s patterning. She’d never admit it, but she had really liked Barry. She feels tentatively excited when Magnus starts gesturing at the drag marks in the brush. Her small shards of hope are quickly crushed when they’re attacked by gerblins. She reaches frantically for her violin as Magnus and Merle get their weapons. 

Merle casts sacred flame at a gerblin, and lights it on fire. Lup, who had felt unsure that this dude was capable of anything competent, is pleasantly surprised.

She has trouble following the linear “I am going to cast this, here is the exact phrase” line of thought. Her style of barding is much more instinctive. All she can think is  _ get away _ and she thinks that, frantically, as she plays. Her playing and frantic thoughts, fortunately, come together into a wave of force. Unfortunately, Magnus and Merle are close enough that her thunderwave almost hits them. They move out of the way in time, but they aren’t happy about her near miss. Magnus jumps off of the cart, and the not-on-fire Gerblin is cut in half. The gerblin Merle hit is laying on the road, still slightly smoldering. A third gerblin pops up from the brush and fires a flaming arrow towards Lup. She hits the deck, the only thought in her mind being  _ Angus, Angus, Angus  _ (with a subtle note of  _ holy shit I almost died and left Angus).  _

Over the roaring in her ears, she faintly hears Merle yelling something about putting out the canvas. Before her brain can process her current–and very chaotic–situation, Merle is off the wagon and running towards the brush gerblin. He throws his hand ax into the brush and somehow, impossibly, he hits the gerblin. 

Her blood still surging, full of adrenaline from the fight, Lup runs up to the gerblins on the road and starts searching them for anything that might be a clue. (If she also pockets some gold, well, it’s not like the gerblins are gonna need it for anything.) She finds a shitty short bow, which Magnus gets excited about and grabs  _ while _ asking if he can have it. Lup takes half a second to marvel about how this dude is SO fucking enthusiastic all the time, including but not limited to right after committing murder, before she refocuses on the task at hand.  

In one of the horse’s saddlebags, she finds a map. She unrolls it and has just begun to survey it when Magnus is again pointing at something as he loudly calls them over. Before Lup can even  _ start _ voicing all the reasons this is a shitty plan, Magnus is charging into the underbrush, following a trail of broken branches and some drag marks that may or may not actually be there. (He insists he can see them, but he insists on things like that he's drunk eight skins of milk in a row and that he’s going to find a pet dog on this trip so Lup doesn’t just believe any shit he says.)

Before following him, Lup has to stop for a few moments, under the pretense of layering more branches over the wagon. She clings to the wooden side, struggling to take a full breath. She can’t believe that she’s about to go put her life on the line for some rando she’d barely met. It was one thing when she was looking at the map, thinking through possible plans, but Magnus had yelled–in third person–“thinking is for other people! Magnus is all about action!” and gone rushing in. She takes the deepest breath she can get, pictures Angus. His brown skin, freckles, the shine of excitement in his eyes when he tells her about the mystery going on in his new book, the gap between his teeth, the face he made when he was focusing. Then she pictures how his face looked when she was telling him about the trip she was going on. How excited he’d been for her as she drank in his face for what might have been the last time. 

She takes the largest breath she can. She wants to do this. Angus wants her to do this. Angus is going to be okay. She’s going to be okay. She ignores the way every cell of her body was screaming at her to LEAVE, to go, to get back to her baby. She turns around, swinging her violin to hang over her back. She claps her hands together. “Alright, chucklefucks. Y’all ready to rescue go denim man and the boss? I, for one, am not about to fail my trial run.” 

Magnus, who has been bouncing on his heels as he waited. Magnus, still acting way too goddamn excited. Magnus, who is so obnoxious yet endearing, says “great!” before he continues rushing along his “path”. Lup and Merle share a glance before figuring, well, might as well keep the group together. Somehow, Magnus’s impulsive system works though and before long they find themselves at the entrance of a cave. They stop–Lup may or may not need to grab Magnus by the back of his shirt, but whatever tactics might get used to keep these rowdy boys in-line aren’t relevant to her journey–and they can all hear the unmistakable sound of rushing water. Lup, like almost every elf, does not like to get wet. She especially does not want to go get wet in a cold, dark cave. 

Lup takes a page out of Magnus’s book and talks about herself in third person. “Chyeah, so, Lup’s on Team Hangout. Lemme know if you find anything interesting.” and then sits down, back against the cave’s outer wall. She soaks in the sun as she works to breathe through her dizziness, to keep talking herself through why she can’t just go back to Angus right this instant.  

After a few minutes of trying to convince Lup to come–and only a few seconds of convincing before Merle will cast light on the battle axe–Magnus is back in motion. He yells back, narrating the journey to Merle (a slight ways into the cave) and Lup (still firmly outside, thankyouverymuch). Then Merle is yelling back, calling Magnus a fool and telling him that he needs to wait up.

Internally, Lup sighs. “Welp, there goes our last shred of surprise. Now they definitely know we’re here.” She ducks the bats that the boys have disturbed, then closes her eyes again, goes back to trying to center herself.

According to Magnus, there are a bunch of very loud chain noises. He yells that he’s going down that hallway (of course) and after a minute he’s yelling to them about the three wolves that he’s found. Lup can see the writing on the wall and rushes into the cave before Magnus starts trying to befriend the wild gerblin cave wolves. 

After a few moments arguing, their heads down the other (not wolf filled) tunnel. They reach an overpass and Lup, impulsively, decides to yell and see if the shadowy figure up there answers her. She calls, “Hello friend!” First in elvish, then in Gerblin.

She starts lying about having made a wrong turn, and then the gerblin is responding and telling her that “this is not a  _ great _ place for tourism.” Silently, Lup agrees.

After Lup blurts out a question about if they have any gold (and then immediately berates herself about it), she tries to get her questions–this conversation, this mission– back on track. Her heart sinks, even though she’ll never admit it, when the Gerblin yells back “Oooh  _ shit, _ yeah, we… did that.” Before turning around to shout at his gerblin friends. “Hey, guys! Someone’s here! Guys, it’s the guys from the horse thing!”

As a few gerblins had a loud conversation, Magnus starts to creep to the other side of the underpass. Lup bit her tongue to keep from yelling at him. She settles for hissing at him. “What are you doing, dumbass?”

Magnus looks back at her, his face still showing his enthusiasm. Lup’s absolutely baffled by how this dude is in a dark gerblin cave and still acting so excited to be on this mission. 

As Magnus creeps forward, raising his ax,  Merle casts a shimmering bubble around Magnus. Internally, Lup rolls her eyes. Magnus was already wearing an un-godly amount of armor, and the shield Merle’d created was absolute overkill. 

The gerblin, still watching from the overpass, stares at Magnus for a moment before shrugging and turning his attention to Merle. He turned his short bow away from Magnus, taking aim at Merle. 

Merle looked down at the arrow in his chest, at the severity of his wound, and nodded. “Yeah, that seems fair.” 

Lup, going against her last few brain cells that were yelling about how bad of an idea this was, steps forwards. “HEY, GERBLIN!” 

Merle, possibly dazed from his blood loss, looks confused. “Who are you yelling at?” 

“The gerblin, idiot,” Lup told him exasperated. 

“The bridge gerblin?” 

“Yes!” She pauses for a long sigh. “The gerblin on the overpass. Who else would I be yelling at? Nevermind, I don’t wanna know.” 

Having gotten the gerblin’s attention, Lup plays a chain of notes. She fumbles for a moment, feeling the urge to aim her bow like a weapon; an urge to watch a fireball form from its tip and slam into the gerblin. But Lup doesn’t know how to do that, has never known how to do anything like that. She takes a deep breath, then plays the notes needed to cast thunderwave. She feels a little bit bad about the damage the two idiots near her were about to take, but at least she shoves Merle down to try and minimize the damage that he took. 

Her spell knocks into the gerblin, but he manages to keep standing. 

“Hell yeah, guys!” A giant grin spreads across her face. God, this was exhilarating. “He looks real bad. Yeah, dudes! He looks like he’s about to kick it.”  

\---

That evening, after Ren leaves to make sure everything is ready for the next morning of sales at the bakery, Angus takes a careful breath before pulling out the industrially sized pan from underneath him and his mother’s bed. He couldn’t leave all of his notes on a wall, obviously, so he had his baking sheet covered in tape and scraps of paper. He’d put this pan together quickly, but he knew this was a big deal. He didn’t have the time to make this look any more professional. He was going to do everything in his power to solve this case. Everything he could do to help his mama. He props the sheet against the wall under the window and sits back to study it. 

He’s divided his giant sheet into sections. He has one about everything he knew about his mom’s life before she moved here, one about incidents that had triggered her episodes, one about the clues he’d found when he’d searched their apartment, and one detailing everything that doesn’t add up. This is by far the largest section. 

Angus studies his emptiest segment. There’s the message from the blanket, carefully copied onto a piece of notebook paper. His description of the “stinkiest” award shirt. And finally, everything that he remembered from his static episode that afternoon. Angus chews the end of his pen as he reads and re-reads all his pages. His pen bursts, covering his lips in ink. He tosses his pen into his “thinking pen” box, before he grabs a fresh pen from his nightstand drawer and resumes his chewing. 

He starts a new note. “Can’t connect the information.” He thinks for a few moments, before adding “there is a logical conclusion I should be able to draw.” His face scrunches up, as he surveys his evidence intently. “Attempts to do so result in static.” Then, he carefully tapes up his new note.

He hears Ren’s footsteps at the bottom of the stairs and quickly slides his board back in its hiding space. “Angus?” She calls. “Do you wanna come help me roll out the dough for the sticky buns? I know that’s your favorite!” 

Angus slips his pen and notebook back in his pocket and smiles as big as he can muster. “Sounds great! Lemme just wash my hands and I’ll be right there!” He takes one last look around the bedroom, making sure nothing looks  _ too  _ out of place (just the consistent amount of mess). Then, he rushes down the stairs.

That night, after he reassures Ren at least ten times that he’ll be fine on his own and really doesn’t need her to stay on the couch, he starts making his plan of attack. Unfortunately, he can’t get very far into making his plan, because he has no suspects. He’d gathered some evidence from his search of their house, but looking at it now wasn’t helping him. Angus falls asleep clutching a flashlight in one hand and his notebook in the other. 

\---

In the morning, Angus wakes up early. He dresses carefully, trying to remember everything he’s read about situations like this. He makes sure to wear his sturdiest shoes, like the books about adventurers always say.  He stacks his schoolbooks carefully in the back of the closet, and carefully loads up his satchel with everything he might need. Angus takes a deep breath, looks in the mirror, and tries to channel his mother’s confidence and spark. 

Once he’s all ready, he gives Ren a hug goodbye and walks towards school. He knew Ren would be angry when she found the note he’d left on the dresser, but he  _ needs  _ to do this. He didn’t want to disappoint Ren, to disappoint his mama, so he was just hoping with all his might they would agree this was worth it. He thinks through his note one more time as he walks, making absolutely sure that he’d been vague enough Ren wouldn’t be able to find and stop him. 

About halfway to school, once he’s out of her line of sight, Angus ducks down a side street. It was a risky move, but Angus was going to travel to the nearby town of Twin Rivers. He’d met their militia’s captain when they were both investigating a string of break-ins where various people’s valuables had been switched around. Angus had found the similarities in the crime scenes, impressing the militia captain. Since then, Angus had operated as a consultant for the militia. Captain Oglesby had done his best to keep Angus out of the thick of things, working with his mama so Angus’ involvement had been limited but he did have a solid list of cases he’d helped solve. 

He’d heard murmurs in his network of contacts about missing persons cases where the people weren’t sure who they were looking for. People who knew someone was gone but they didn’t know who that person seemed like it could be very promising. He was hoping he could find something from these people that would connect to his mama’s static episodes. Angus hitches his satchel strap higher on his shoulder, and starts walking away from town. Away from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please support ur local angst writers by fueling us with comments juice.   
> happy candlenights to all y’all currently celebrating!   
> talk to you soon <3  
> chapter title: [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5SpFB8fwqYw) and [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/20svOpmCQao5GUBgSu8zDe?si=8uvGf-c5QEGzqtdU6wBjyQ)

**Author's Note:**

> savannah:  
> tumblr: @shutupsavannah  
> twitter: @savannahshutup
> 
> kath:  
> tumblr: @ipretwins  
> twitter: @kathisntvalid


End file.
